if the subject is dead, then
who am i? am i?
object? i fit myself into a nation, palimpsest-like, trying, trying through innumerable pieces of paper: birth-certificates, marriage licenses, the genealogical necessity of demonstrating, certifying, paternal non-existence,
looking over piazzas, through corridors, do i not exist, too? is the author dead? the birth of the salesman is contemporary with the death of the author.
& where did it some of it begin? an escape: mia madre scappa
my mother escapes (circa 1986) from 5575 Shasta Way, address envelopes with Klamath Falls, Oregon
97603 US of A
& yet this is Altamont. not even incorporated, more places between documentation, definition, [she/it] returned + married // 5575 Shasta Way
Italian father, US-American mother – Pillsbury Dough Boy, Kellogg’s Cornflakes, Quaker Oats, Cream of Wheat, Crisco, Biscuits and Gravy, Green Eggs and Kevin Bacon, Slippery Floor-mats Pretending To Be People
&…
View original post 211 more words
Prison As Power 